


Beneath Me, Beside Me

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Break Up, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Happens in a Garden, Known magic, M/M, Sex, Sort Of, magic is legal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:40:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Merlin wants Arthur to stay the night.





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin wakes up to a particularly brilliant flash of light from the storm raging outside. The whole room is bathed in a blue-white glow for a half a second, but it is long enough for him to glimpse the flash of blond settled on the floor. Anger almost as blinding as the electricity in the sky streaks through Merlin.

He’s naked, sweaty, and sticky, despite the chill frosting the window. Last night wasn’t a dream, then, despite the emptiness of his bed, despite the lack of warmth on half the lilac sheets. Despite, he muses, the uncreased pillow by his nose.

He’s tired when he hears the low rumbled from the floor beneath his bed, and it takes his still waking brain a few seconds to realize there is not an old truck sputtering along down there. As the lightening dances across the sly again, Merlin catches sigh of a speckled chest, the faintest glimmer of golden fuzz blanketing it, and the not-a-truck rumble seems to vibrate in his chest, encouraging his next actions.

He doesn’t stop to think, just grabs the pillow beside him and slings it as hard as he can while burying his face in his own pillow before it smacks sleep pursed lips. From below, Merlin hears a startled cry and the sputtering turns into a garbled whine. He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare breath either, and waits for the rest of the reaction.

It doesn’t take long for the angry pelting of the rain to be drowned out by his own heartbeat, and when he sucks in air, the silence of the room is weighing him down much more efficiently than the quilt on his bare ass. He forces his head off the pillow, staring ineffectively through his dark fringe.

“So you’re awake then. Knew you’d thrown it on purpose, you great dolt.”

Merlin blinks slowly, before reaching a hand to swipe hair off his face. “Can’t say I know what you are talking about there, mate.”

On the floor, the blond male scrambles to his knees, dragon covered quilt falling in a haphazard tangle around his waist. He grips the pillow in two white-knuckled hands, and the gold dusted chest heaves in time with the thunder outside.

There’s a grotesque beauty about his red, spit-slicked lips and flaring nostrils, Merlin thinks. The blond’s eyes glow as if he heard the thought, so Merlin lets his face fall back against his pillow as he closes his eyes.

“Really.” There’s no disbelief in the statement, only a resigned dismissal, and Merlin cracks an eye open to see the blond rise to his feet as he lets the quilt fall away. It’s only a sudden burst of lightening that allows three dark bruises to stand out on pale globes and Merlin is well aware that if he were to part his lips over them, it’d be a perfect fit. The thought sends shivers down his spine that have his stomach churning uncomfortable.

“One of these days Merlin, you’re going to have to explain these late night outburst.”

Merlin moves faster than the bright yellow flashes this time, and he manages to capture two strong wrist in his own narrow hands. He pins the blond against the glass, and its only the seclusion of his manor that keeps him from worrying about their naked state. He places his lips against the blond’s ear, letting the pale curls tickle his upper lip.

“One of those days, you won’t be such an obtuse prat.”

One of them shivers in the cold, and it sends them both into a strange tremoring, so Merlin steps back, releasing the captive male. Broad palms stay braced against the window as the blond lets his own head rest against the foggy glass. “Back to the harsh endearments, are we? Tell me Merlin, can you only recall my name in the moments before I leave you breathless?”

Merlin wants to answer. He wants to scream until his lips split and his throat cracks. The answer is “no,” because even now, as he refers to his partner as “the blond male,” his name echoes in Merlin’s head the way it did about the room only hours ago. Instead, he bends down reaching for the quilt on the floor and wraps it around his own trembling shoulders. “No,” he sighs, “only until you leave, period.”

The blond sucks in a stuttering breath as he turns. His eyes are wet, and perhaps a little wounded. An aborted movement leaves his fingers just shy of Merlin’s cheekbones, before they’re smacked away.

“Take the bed. I’m going to shower, then head to my library.” Merlin flicks flat blue eyes to the red glow on the nightstand. “It’s only a few hours before you’ve got to be at work, so you might as well get some rest.”

\---

The rain pitters in an out through the day. Merlin is aware only because of the constant streams of water his friends keep dripping onto his silvery rugs, and after his sleepless night in only serves to further annoy him. He watches the way Lance slouches in Merlin’s favorite armchair with Gwen perched in his lap with mild contempt and tries not to glare actual lasers at Gwaine as he rattles all of Merlin’s liquor while ignoring the glass he left on Merlin’s oak desk.

“Percy and Elyan won’t sign without his approval. Morgana might just to spite him and if she does we might get Mordred.” Gwaine sets a glass of whiskey down next to a bottle of rum, causing the while display to shake dangerously.

“Sit, Gwaine.” Merlin snaps. The curly haired male raises his hands half-heartedly before slouching on the low, brown couch in the middle of the room. Gwen gives them both a disappointed shake of her head before returning to the task of filling her nails as she speaks. “Will and Freya were right then. You’re particularly unpleasant these days. “

Lance laughs, which quickly turns into a choked coughing under Merlin’s glare. Merlin returns to the paper work he’s been slogging through since he woke up that morning. Lance studies him for a moment, taking in the exaggerated hollows of his cheeks and the pronounced bruising under his eyes. He’s hesitant, but he has to know so he carefully clears his throat. “Is he still here then?”

Merlin doesn’t look up, but his shoulders drop just a little. He stays silent for a long time, only the faintest echo of rain on the roof and the ticking of the clock making a sound. Finally, he wipes imaginary crumbs off the desk. “Wouldn’t know; he was when I got up at 2.” He continues to shuffle the papers around, dismissing the conversation.

Gwaine stretches so he can grab the whisky off the desk, eyeing Merlin carefully. He keeps his voice casual as he asks “will he be back tonight?”

Gwen holds her breath and raises a hand to strike at Gwaine but Lance grips her wrist carefully. He shakes his head and nods at Merlin who is acting like the question was never asked. He signs a document and tucks into a folder before informing them, “Will and Freya aren’t so sure Morgana will actually go through with singing. She may not agree with Arthur’s views on the free use of uncontrolled magic on private property, but he’s her brother. According the gossip they got from Leon, she’s really trying to work with him since Uther’s death.”

Gwen nods, “I had a feeling about that. How are they, by the way? It’s been a while since they came to a Friday night.”

Merlin offers a half shrug, frowning as he searches for another paper. “Global trotting as a poor, recently married couple doesn’t really lend to regular visits home. If Leon hadn’t refused to stay home with the twins another day, I doubt Morgana would have agreed to fly them home. They’re trying to be respectful of that generosity.”

Gwaine snorts. “They’ll be here tomorrow. Percy ran into them at the Market and Freya was all aglow because Morgana convinced Leon to take off work. Apparently Freya and Morgana had new outfits. Will’s all kinds of conflicted about it because he doesn’t like charity but he loves seeing Freya glow.”

Merlin watches the way Gwaine’s eyes go soft at the mention of Percival’s domesticity, and he can’t help the way it settles like rot in his gut, a small, sharp part of him is desperate to lash out, and spread the poison. Instead he presses a button and listens to the crackle of the intercom.

“Yes, Mr. Emrys?”

Merlin wrinkles his nose at the formality, but asks, “George, could you bring a cold lunch spread up? And set a schedule for a late coffee. No visitors today and don’t expect me for supper.”

There is an affirming hum, before he hears “and your friends?” It makes Merlin a little wary, the way George seems to know so much, but he flick his eyes around the room, assessing their plans in their posture. “You can send extra up with lunch.”

“Yes, Mr. Emrys.”

\---

Merlin is running the length of the land he inherited, using the smallest amount of magic to keep the cold rain off his face. He’s thinking he might go by his mother’s cottage, and check the gardens since he hasn’t been since the funeral. It’s a risk, since checking on the magic greenhouse might set off the wards alerting Pendragon Incorporate to another incident of unauthorized and uncontrolled use of magic, but he also knows that the wards haven’t been refreshed this season. His mother is liable to come back from the dead just to smite him if he lets her prized garden go wild over something as silly as paperwork.

He takes a sharp curve through the woods curling around the lake, studying the undergrowth. He knows that some of his natural magic seeps out beyond his control, and he can see it in the faint glimmers of new growth, but he also recognizes the large patches of dying flora. His mother would have found a way to keep the woods alive through the harsh, winter, magic or no magic.

As he traces the edge of the lake, he spots a few foxes keeping track of him as they play in the snow, and he nods at them. He’s not sure if they were the ones his mother helped raise, or if they’re even related to those kits at all, but he makes note of where he finds them and decides to focus on this area when he plants winter berries next season.

The foxes leave him before he reaches the little stone building his mother kept, and while he enjoyed having the foxes for company, he finds that he’s glad to be alone for this. Inside, plants of all kinds thrive together, despite climate needs and the sleepy season outside. He plucks a couple of plums off a tree at the entrance, and then strolls through the fields of flowers, plucking dead ones here and there and waving his fingers over a few wilting bushes. The smell is overwhelming, and his noses itches the way it did when he was a boy, and he traces the dogwoods trees, trying to remember the exact incantation he used to keep the temperatures specific to individual plants instead of regions, as he swings from the branches of a pecan trees. He thinks he should go check on the tropical section, and perhaps bring back a few mangos and papayas for Gwaine, but he feels a tremor in the air and he knows he’s been caught. A few seconds later, an annoying chirps echoes in the glass building and he knows that means Arthur’s summoned him directly to his home office. He supposes he should be thankful he doesn’t have to go to the office, because at least now he can transport himself directly into the building.

 Before he goes he grabs a bundle of blanketflowers, and wraps them in the handkerchief tucked into his pocket. He doesn’t really know why he picks them, except that they’re low maintenance and pretty, but he doesn’t really have a place to put them, so they hang by his thigh as he lets himself into Arthur’s home. No staff is present so he wanders in the general direction of where Arthur’s office is, until he finds the large wooden doors. He flicks a loose wrist and the door swings open quietly to reveal Arthur with his lips pursed and head bent low over mounds of documents. He doesn’t even realize Merlin has arrived and Merlin can’t help but let his eyes roam over the exhaustion that’s present in the curve of the man’s shoulder and neck, and the way his hand keeps yanking at his hair.

He stays silent for a long time, until Arthur rubs a hand over his eyes, and then leaves it there. Merlin hums. “Tire of reading your own name or are you ready to admit that you need glasses?”

Arthur doesn’t look up as he answers. “No one get glasses at 37, Merlin.”

“Funny. Last year you said 36.” Arthur barely lifts his head to level a disinterested look at Merlin. “There a reason you’ve chosen to invade my home?”

Merlin flinches. “Is it really invading if I’ve a toothbrush here?” He quirks a brow trying to paste a small smirk on his lips and sets the flowers on a chair.

“If it is unused and still in its original packaging, I believe so.”

The coolness of in his voice competes with the falling snow, and Merlin frowns, unprepared for the abruptness of the dismissal. He takes a step inside the door, and calls a bottle from the kitchen so he has something to do with his hands. He makes his way to the grand desk, cautiously, and then sets the bottle on the desk, letting his hand linger on the surface.

“Don’t Merlin. I’ve plenty of work left tonight. We can deal with this tomorrow.”

“You haven’t even had dinner yet.” Merlin shrugs at Arthur’s look of confusion. “No dishes, nothing in the trash. The air doesn’t smell like Cook’s spices. Rumor has it that you’ve been skipping lots of meals lately.”

Arthur huffs as he moves papers into folders he shoves into a cabinet. “I’m quite capable of feeding myself without company.”

Merlin laughs lightly. “Oh, I’m aware. You haven’t got the figure of a careful man.”

He gets no response from Arthur, so he starts to step around the desk. Arthur speaks quietly. “We can’t all be stitched together bones living on magic and air, Emrys.”

Merlin’s brows jump up. “Now who is avoiding my name?” He carefully tracks the slow way Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, his lips moving quickly as he counts under his breath.

“Given that Emrys is your surname, I don’t think I’m avoiding anything. You know those signals indicate specific meeting locations and times, so unless you’ve come to discuss business that absolutely can’t wait until Tuesday, I’ve important things to take care of.”

Merlin frowns and steps away from the desk, lifting the bottle to his lips. He takes several long sips before he asks “Can’t I have just missed you, you great prat?”

He’s so surprised by the file that whips towards his face he doesn’t even think to use magic to shield himself. He stares in shock at Arthur’s heaving chest, the way the blond keeps clenching his fist. Finally, he lifts an accusing finger to Merlin. “Get. Out.”

Merlin takes a step forward. “You don’t mean that.”

Arthur laughs bitterly. “Oh, but I do. Get out now Merlin. Morgana will deal with you Tuesday.”

Merlin takes in the tremors in Arthur’s wrist, before he takes a breath and speaks. “It’s true, though. I’ve missed you. I’ll meet her Tuesday, but I wanted to see you tonight.”

There is no response, so Merlin steps forward. “It’s been a few weeks, Mate. I haven’t seen you. You don’t even come to the hearings.”

“I am not your fucking Mate.” Merlin can’t help the way the shock forces him back, but he doesn’t know if it has to do with the shaking fury or of the language. The blue eyes that cut holes into Merlin soften for half a second, before they’re tucked behind an indifferent mask. “Please just go.”

Merlin doesn’t hesitate this time as he bolts out the door before he can possibly see the red rimmed eyes he’s leaving behind.

\---

Tuesday’s hearing is canceled, and then it isn’t rescheduled. Merlin gets a letter in the male two weeks later, and he doesn’t understand all the legal language, but he gets the gist of it. They’ve decided that his magic is stable enough that they’re lifting the restrictions on it, and they’ll remove the monitoring enchantments about his lands. He is free to practice as much magic as he wants in the privacy of his own property.

He should be happy, he’s well aware of this. Exuberance should be bleeding out of him as he watches his friends pop bottles of champagne open on his terrace, basking in the warm bubble Merlin cast around them. It feels like a hollow victory though. He doesn’t even know if this counts as a win, if they just give up the battle.

The whole situation bothers Merlin. Arthur and Morgana really don’t have the authority to call cases. They’re mostly responsible for presenting the cases and letting others make the decision. Arthur is good at what he does, but there’s no way he could have swayed an entire panel on a case that’s two years old in just a matter of days. Not without some less than legal means and Arthur has never been one to blur the lines, even on cases as high profile as this one.

What really bothers him though, is that none of his friends on the panel had known anything about it. Percy and Elyan had always been on Merlin’s side about the regulations, but they also understood why power like his might have needed to be tempered some. Their votes would have been heavily reliant on closing arguments, despite their close friendship with him. He didn’t hold it against them, but when he’d presented the letter they’d been more surprised than he had.

Will had also been silent on any gossip, but Merlin had chalked that up to gratitude for Morgana spontaneously hiring him and Freya to do clerical work, despite obvious lack of experience. Merlin hadn’t the heart to tell them it was most likely done out of spite, because Arthur had once sworn never to hire “village brutes,” but Freya had seemed genuinely confused when Merlin broke the news to them.

If the celebrating crowd has noticed Merlin’s somber move, they’ve left him to it in favor of drinks and laughter. Merlin can’t help the cool bitterness numbing him, or the vicious bite to his gaze as he watches Percy and Gwaine toss small berries into each other’s mouths. He tries to temper the resentment rising in his throat as he watches Will and Freya tucked into their little corner, under snow covered branches. As Gwen and Lance dance without rhythm, and Leon hoist the twins on his shoulders, Merlin feels a coldness settle around his heart and he tosses back the entire content of his bottle in one smooth, burning motion.

If things had been different, he muses, he’d be out there with them, his arms wrapped loosly around thick shoulders laughing at Gwaine’s crude jokes and half-assed snark.

Before he can tease himself with the daydreams, he feels a tickle at the edges of his barrier that he recognizes as Morgana’s magic. Irritation wells up in him that she would even show up here but he doesn’t stop her from sidling up next to him. He even accepts the cold bottle she offers him. He quirks his brow as she raises her own shield to muffle their conversation. Both of them stay quiet for a long time and Merlin wonders if she had a real reason to invade his personal space.

Then he wonders what it’s like for her to be her. She’s Leon’s plus one, and in some ways she and Gwen could be considered friends. He thinks even Gwaine has grown at least tolerant of her, but she’s still clearly an outsider. He’s studying her inquisitively when she decides to speak to him finally.

“Funny. I’ve seen that look before on a roman nosed blonde. I think it works a little better on him, but he’s got this strange air of arrogant obliviousness that makes it work.”

Merlin regards her over the rim of his bottle. He waits for her to add on to her observation, but when she stays quiet he sighs and asks “Is he well?”

Morgana lazily flicks her wrist and the crowd laughs as snow trickles slowly through the air barrier. Not enough to cause any damage, but enough to catch on tongues and amuse the children. “I’ve certainly seen him happier, but he’s surviving.”

Merlin can’t hold back his scoff. “That look must’ve been long before me.”

Morgana regards him with a blank look. “Tell me, was it hard to frame pictures with skulls as thick as both of yours?”

Merlin scowls, but Morgana waves a hand. “What even happened, Merlin? Because I know the others believe it was the legal thing, but I think that’s just a convenient excuse. You knew in the beginning he might be assigned to your case.”

Merlin shrugs. “Why don’t you ask that boorish brother of yours?

Morgana takes a long sip and watches as Merlin flinches away from the intensity of her gaze/ “We both know Arthur can be particularly dense sometimes. He genuinely does not seem to understand what went wrong. In his mind what ever happened truly occurred overnight.”

Merlin rolls his eyes but Morgana pushes on. “He is also under the impression that if he were to ask you, you’d just as soon tell him to sod off as give him an answer.”

Merlin laughs. “Well, he’s not wrong for one.”

Morgana looks unimpressed. “I never took you for one to be so petty, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs. “How well do you really know me, Morgana?”

She manages to look at him with pity and contempt. “Well enough to know you’re hurting just as bad as he is, because neither of you can act like adults nor have an honest conversation.”

Merlin turns towards her, and she’s mildly surprised by the dead look in his eyes. “That conversation should have happened a long time ago, Morgana. Even if I wanted to, I think it’s too late. He doesn’t want to see me.”

Morgana shakes her head and dissolves her shield. Before she returns to the celebration, she places a hand against his cheek. “You’re wrong, Emrys. You’re afraid, because you know he doesn’t know how to start the conversation, but you’re wrong about him not wanting to have it.”

\---

Spring is on the edges of arrival. Merlin knows this because the foxes have begun to stray away from the warmth radiated by the greenhouse and because he no longer has to encourage the green undergrowth to survive. Still, the chill in the air bites at his nose as he jogs the distance between his mother’s garden and his home. He is exhausted because of the late nights spent with Percy and Gwaine, trying to come up with a use for all his extra land, and from the days spent lingering around town in an attempt to distract himself from the loneliness. Occasionally he will spot Arthur on a corner, or in a café, and Morgana’s words will echo in his mind, but he hasn’t found the courage to approach him yet.

He’s in the middle of weeding the blanketflowers when he feels the tingle in his magic, alerting him to a presence in the main house. None of the guys are supposed to be here for dinner for a few more hours, and George was under specific instructions to turn away all other visitors. Merlin tracks the person as they gain entrance to his home and make their way into his office.

He sighs in distaste, but brushes the dirt from his hands and leaves, clicking his tongue at foxes trying to swipe fruits that have fallen to the ground. He lets them keep what they steal, and begins his trek back, inhaling the scents of mint and blossoms, liking the bite of the air in his lungs. He’s a little miffed he won’t be able to shower before dealing with other people, but he wants this to be done with quickly, so as soon as he sees the blue of his front door he calls for George.

“Yes, Mr. Emrys?” Like a shadow his servant appears in the hallway.

“Who’d you let in?” Merlin waits for a reaction, but George remains stoic as ever.

“Pendragon sir. You told me to always let the Pendragons in, and to guide them directly to your office.”

Merlin sighs, “so I did George. Thank you. Please tell Morgana I’ll be there shortly. I’m just going to freshen up.”

George looks like he wants to say something, but he nods and turns away.

Merlin showers quickly and he’s dressed in loose sweats when he enters, still toweling his hair off.  He jumps when he hears a voice say “you always were one to show off.”

“Arthur.” Merlin studies him for a long time, neither of them taking a step closer. Finally he lowers the towel to his neck and steps inside, lowering himself into his favorite red armchair. “I thought you were Morgana.”

Arthur nods. “I told George not to correct you.” He traces aimless shapes onto Merlin’s desk, refusing to meet his eyes. Merlin waits, not wanting to be the one to break the silence. Finally Arthur’s patience wanes and he huffs. “Would it be possible to ask George to bring some tea? I missed lunch, and came here directly from work.”

Merlin nods, and then waves his hand, pulling some from the kitchen himself. “I take it you’ll be here a while then?”

Arthur jerks. “I don’t know. Morgana gave me strict instructions not to come back until we’d sorted this out.”

Merlin nods. “And you always do what your sister says?” He laughs humorlessly at the look Arthur gives him, raising a hand. “No, alright. I’d probably bend if she told me to as well. Did she tell you what we are to talk about?”

Again Arthur looks at him unimpressed. Merlin busies himself with pouring tea, and he offers a cup. Arthur nods his thanks and takes it, but he doesn’t sip it. He just holds him it in his hands, staring at Merlin with a quiet intensity that reminds Merlin of a king regarding an opponent. He doesn’t like feeling like the enemy in his own home, and he goes to say something, but Arthur beats him to it.

“What happened Merlin?”

Merlin tenses up. “Don’t know.”

Arthur frowns. “I keep wracking my brain, Merlin, and I just don’t get it. We were fine for a long time. Months. And then you just…”Arthur glances down at the cup in his hand, twisting it. “What did I do to make you hate me so much?”

Merlin furrows his brows. “I don’t hate you.”

Arthur snorts. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Merlin sits up a little straighter. “What makes you think I hate you mate?”

Arthur points a finger at him. “That, for starters. No offense, but when you’re sleeping with someone pretty regularly, I think they’re a little more than a ‘mate.’”

Both of Merlin’s brows jump up. “Seriously? You’re upset I don’t call you ‘Arthur’?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Not necessarily that. You used to be more…” He pauses and chews over his cheek a moment. “You’ve never really been one for terms of endearment, Merlin. But there was always a strange affection in the names you called me. And then one day, you never called me anything but ‘mate.’ That’s how you referred to me, ‘this is my mate.’ At first I thought you just didn’t want your friends to know about us, but Gwaine seemed pretty informed.” Arthur turns the coup in his hands absently as he studies Merlin.

Merlin studies his own hands. “If you wanted me to call you buttercup, you could have just said so.” He tries to keep his voice lite and teasing.

Arthur huffs and runs his hands through his hair. “That too! Why’s everything such a joke to you? I’m being serious here, and you’re laughing at me!”

Merlin looks up. “I’m not laughing at you.”

Arthur glares at him and crosses his arms. “Yeah, you are. You don’t take any of my concerns seriously.”

Merlin can’t help but sneer at him. “What concerns Arthur? You never say anything? You just huff and puff and glower and then run off to your office instead of talking to me.”

Arthur opens his mouth and then closes it. “You haven’t exactly been approachable, Merlin. Any time I go to say something, you shut down. I feel like I’m supposed to apologize for something, but I don’t know where to begin.”

Merlin thinks of that night in his bedroom a few months ago. “That’s been the problem from the start, I guess. You really just don’t get it.”

Arthur takes a deep breath, but Merlin raises a hand. “What are we, Arthur?”

“What do you mean?”

Merlin waves a hand between them. “I know we’re in a bit of a fight right now, but ignoring that, how would you classify us? In relationship terms?”

Arthur frowns, and then slowly picks up his cup. He takes a sip, scrunching up his nose at the lukewarm taste. “I don’t think you want the answer right now. It’s a little different than it used to be.”

Merlin breaths deeply. “Alright. Then before. How would you have classified us?”

“We were dating, I would have thought.” He says the words carefully, like he isn’t sure they’re what Merlin wants to hear. Like he isn’t sure they’re accurate.

Merlin shakes his head, absently rubbing his thumbs along his fingertips. “I suppose in some ways that’d’ve been accurate. They went for movies and dinners, and took turns paying. They spent holidays with the families, and then returned to one of their houses to close nights out together. Intimate presents were swapped, and at parties they always knew who they were going home with.

Merlin’s a little hurt that Arthur’s so uncertain. He thinks about the plans they’d begun discussing. Arthur giving Morgana Uther’s home, adopting dogs, and then kids. He thinks of trips to Barcelona and America, and plays to see and canyons to hike.

But then he thinks of empty beds and two a.m. exits. He thinks of the careful distance Arthur kept from Merlin’s friends, and the way he only ever met Morgana in cold offices. Merlin stands up slowly and approaches Arthur, watching the way the blond tenses and sits up straighter. Merlin reaches one slender finger to trace Arthur’s brow, and he notes the way the other male stays so rigid. Merlin flashes back to walks through the park, where he’d reach for Arthur’s hand only to find it tucked into a pocket. He pulls his hand back, trying to keep the sorrow out of his face.

“Were we Arthur? Because you seemed to only like me in the privacy of a dark bedroom.”

This time, it’s Arthur who moves supernaturally fast. He’s standing in front of Merlin hands hovering above his shoulders. Merlin can’t help but chuckle bitterly. “Even now, you aren’t willing to touch me. You literally can’t hold me unless we’re both naked in the dark.”

Arthur sets his mouth with determination, and Merlin can see the challenge in his eyes. He squares his shoulders and then carefully raises a hand to Merlin’s neck, one thumb carefully caressing the hollow below his Adam’s apple. Merlin smacks his hand away. “That doesn’t count, Arthur. You’re clearly uncomfortable.”

Arthur shakes his head. “It does count. It absolutely counts because I’m uncomfortable. Because I’m making an effort. Because I’m terrified, and I don’t know how to do this, but I’m trying, dammit.”

Merlin takes a step back. “It’s a little late to try.”

Arthur drops his hands and deflates. “How would you have defined us then Merlin?”

Merlin walks away from him and stares out the window. “I would have said we were on two different pages.” He tries to keep his voice even, tries to keep it dry. “I would have said I knew how I felt about you, but you weren’t sure.” Arthur makes an indignant noise, but Merlin shakes his head. “You’re attracted to me sure. You get along with me and you enjoy my company, but I don’t think you’re ready for anything serious. I think you’re still in love with Gwen, and she hurt you when she picked Lance, but you’re taking it out on me.” He turns around, and he knows his lip is trembling and his eyes are watering, but he needs to say this. “I can’t do it Arthur. I can’t just wait in the background for you to finally decide you’re ready to move on. I deserve a proper love story.”

Arthur stares at him in disbelief. “You’re mad because I don’t romance you?” He makes an aborted motion, like he’s going to step forward and grab Arthur or he’s going to punch something, but he ends up with is hands dangling uselessly in the air. “I’m not still hung up on Gwen. And I told you from the start that I wasn’t the best at relationships.”

Merlin snorts. “Maybe it’s not Gwen you’re hung up on exactly, but you’re clearly not ready to move on.” He runs a hand over his hear, and then slumps into his armchair. “Maybe you should just go Arthur. Today’s probably not the day for this conversation.”

Arthur steps towards him, ready to argue, but Merlin shakes his head. “Really. Just, get out.”

Arthur turns away and Merlin hears the door open. Something inside of him hurts, like he can’t breathe, and he buries his head in his hands. The door doesn’t shut though. “Please, Arthur, get out.” He’s so close to sobbing he’s afraid to lift his head.

A tentative hand settles on his shoulder. “I’m tired of leave, Merlin. I don’t understand why you always send me away.”

Tears finally overflow, but its anger that drives them, and Merlin stands and faces Arthur. “It’s because you can’t fucking sleep with me.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I slept with you several times.”

Merlin waves a hand, and behind him books fly off shelves, but neither of them seem to notice. “Yes, but that’s not-“ He tugs at his hair, and Arthur hasn’t seen him look so flustered ever. Merlin straightens himself, clenching his fist at his sides. “You’ll sleep with me, but you won’t sleep beside me.”

Arthur shakes his head, still confused. “You said I snore, and that I starfish out across the whole bed. That time you found me passed out from the flu.”

“Arthur, for months you’d either slip out of the room in the dead of night or you’d curl up on the floor like you were afraid to be next to me. Do you know how that makes a person feel? One night stands at least get a morning after! In two years, Arthur, you never once had breakfast with me. I never once ended up at your place, and you haven’t seen more than the inside of this room or the bedroom.”

“I didn’t know you wanted that.” Merlin hates that Arthur looks like he really didn’t realize it. “You’re so particular about everything. You have routines that you always follow and process you do religiously and if anyone messes up your system you get all out of sorts! I just-“ this time Arthur does grip Merlin’s shoulders. “I was trying to respect your space.”

Merlin sniffs, and wipes his eyes. “Why was it always my place?”

“Because my house is big and lonely, and full of bad memories for me. Plus, Morgana is nosy and the servants are judgy. I just, I like your place better. It just felt safer and cozier.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Those are things we could’ve worked around. Every house feels strange until you make it a home. Until you make it personal.”

Arthur slides his hands down Merlin’s arms until his gripping his elbows. “Gwen always hated my place Merlin. I just assumed you’d feel the same and want to avoid it as well. Especially once they stuck me on your hearing. I didn’t think you’d want to deal with Morgana in her own territory.”

Merlin is shaking and Arthur isn’t sure what to do. He wants to step forward and wrap Merlin in his arms and he wants to step back and let him have his space. He’s never known what to do in these situations. Merlin takes the decision from him and pushes him away. “I don’t want to have this conversation, Arthur. Not today. I can’t be the one to fix you.”

He doesn’t give Arthur a chance to respond, before vanishes, leaving Arthur to find his own way out of the house. Arthur hasn’t cried many times in his life, but he sinks to his knees, and then curls on the floor, letting his rage and hurt pour out of him, in heaving sobs.


	2. Chapter 2

              Arthur is itchy. He wants to be sweating. He wants straining lungs and burning muscles and rapid heart rates. He wants to be anywhere but his office. The need to be doing something settles under his skin in a way he’s not used to. He can’t ever remember not giving in to the desire to push his body beyond its limits. He’s sick with need, which puts him in a foul mood that is affecting everyone around him.

               He can hear the frantic whispers of Elyan and Percival outside of his office. They’ve been there for several minutes now, trying to decide if he’s safe to approach for lunch.

                “He’s been in there for days, Perc. Leon says he hasn’t been at the house since Tuesday, and Morgana checked around, but she can’t tell that he’s stayed anywhere else. His receptionist says he’s ordered all three meals the last few days, but she hasn’t actually seen him.”

             He is surprised he can’t make out Percival’s response, but the heavy thud against his doors lets him know the level of his friend's frustration. Arthur debates for half a moment, letting them know he can hear them, but the effort it would take seems overwhelming. Instead he opts to shrug off his jacket and slump into the cloth couch. His eyes water for a moment, and he’s surprised to catch the scent on him. It’s enough to make him consider leaving, but leaving means facing his friends and he doesn’t feel like he’s up for it.

               Instead he puts his headphones in and tries to sleep some.

               The problem is, beneath the stink of his own body, there’s another smell. The same one that haunts his house. Flowers. Arthur opens a tired eye and stares balefully at the trash can. Beautiful red flowers peer out over the silver rim. They should have died days ago. Months ago, if he is being honest. He definitely expected them to die once he removed them from the magic vase and tossed them in the trash.

               Arthur hates flowers. Really and truly despise anyone who thinks flowers are an appropriate gift to express affection. They’re pointless and they die days after being plucked. He can’t think of on practical reason to gift someone flowers. Half the time, they don’t even go with a room’s design, so he’s not buying the aesthetic argument. While quick deaths aren’t selling points, he’s at least mildly relieved that he doesn’t have to hold onto them for more than a few weeks most of the time.

               Except for Merlin’s.

               Because fuck Arthur, but he would pick the one wizard in the whole of Albion that not only liked flowers, but knew how to elongate their lives with magic. Arthur glares at the offending flowers, wondering if setting fire to them might do the trick. He doesn’t consider himself particularly prone to violent outburst. Exhaustion weighs him down though. He is miserable and the stench of body odor and flowers don’t mix well with his pounding migraine.

               Before he can reach for his lighter, he hears two solid thuds. He reaches down and turns on his music, ignoring it. The thudding gets louder, and then more thuds join it. “We know you’re in there mate.”

               Arthur isn’t sure if he actually growls as he launches his phone at the door, but he can hear the startled yelp from the other side. “The fuck, mate?” Elyan doesn’t wait for an invitation. Instead he barges in, regarding the shattered device at his feet. “Not cool Pendragon. That model isn’t even out for another two months. Good luck replacing it.”

               Arthur shrugs. “What do you want.”

               Percival peaks his head in, then shuffles next to Elyan. “Meeting. You’re supposed to be briefing the new council members on the updated protocol regarding excessive magic use and untamed power.” His large friend pauses a moment and then wrinkles his nose. “I’m going to tell Sophia to reschedule. No one deserves to be trapped in a room with this for the next few hours. Lunch is also a viable option, providing you shower first.”

               “Cheers, Perc. Way to bolster a bloke’s confidence. Sure know how to lighten the mood.” Arthur can’t help the bite to his voice, even though he knows his friend is right. Elyan simply snorts and drops into the leather seat to Arthur’s left. He stretches towards Arthur’s desk and roots around in the candy jar until he finds the caramel chews. “I’m not offended by a three hour free period. All these laws were supposed to simplify our lives. If anything, all it’s done is add six feet of paperwork to the maze in the file room.”

               Percy snorts. “You pass your paperwork off any way, El.”

               Elyan throws a gold wrapper at Percy, who bats it away easily. “By the way Art. You’ve got a box in the mail room. Morgana dropped it off. Says if you can’t come by the house she’s gonna have the rest of your mail forwarded to the offices.”

                Arthur frowns and studies his friends. “A-. A uhm, box?”

               Percy regards him cautiously , then nods. “Yeah. Didn’t you know? Merls sent it over Friday. After you left his place.”

               Numbness washes over Arthur. He blinks a few times, and tries to understand the significance of the box. Why Merlin would have sent him a box. “What is in it?”

               Elyan glances at Percy and stuffs more candy in his mouth. He chews slowly for a long time, and then sighs when Percy raises his brows at him. He coughs, to clear his throat. “Suppose you left some things at his house. When you guys were uh… together. Some of the nights you stayed over.”

               Arthur shakes his head. “I never spent the night.” The itch from earlier settles over him again, and he hauls himself up from the couch to pace around the room. Absently he scratches at the scruff on his face and thinks he might shave it later. “He didn’t invited me to stay the night, so I never stayed.”

                He misses the glance between his friends as he rounds his desk and searches a drawer for the spare deodorant he leaves in it. He can’t find it, and he’s about to ask when he notices the stillness of the other two males. He frowns. “What?”

               Percy shrugs his shoulders and Elyan shifts uncomfortably.

               Arthur stands up straight and the itching dances over his skin again. “What is it?”

               Percy sighs. “Look, it’s not our place to get involved. But I think at some point in a relationship it becomes kind of understood you’ll be staying over.”

               Arthur glances at Elyan who is studying his nails as if they're a ticking bomb. “Didn’t realize you two lads were experts on these things now.”

               Percy glares at him. “Hey now, don’t you-“

               Arthur cuts him off slamming the drawer shut. “I’ve got to go boys. Its high time I headed home and cleaned myself up. And it sounds like you’ve got quite the mountain of paperwork to deal with.”

               Elyan bolts up right, “hey now wait-“

               Arthur doesn’t wait for the rest of the sentence before he’s stormed out of the office.

  ---

The box sits heavy in his lap, cardboard sticking uncomfortable to his wet thighs. Morgana had wanted to be here to see what was inside, but Arthur had locked her out of his room as soon as he’d finished his shower. He’s beard still itches, but the rest of him has that neutral soap smell and feel.

               It is too cold to be sitting in his dark room in just his towel, but despite the shivers Arthur can’t bring himself to move from this spot. He managed to ignore the box for a few hours while he slept earlier, but now its presence weighs on him so much that he can’t imagine sleeping.

               Behind him, a clock ticks off rhythm. Or it’s his heartbeat that’s off. He drums his fingers along the side, and then sucks in a breath. Quick as he can he strips the tape off and pulls the flaps back. Tissue paper sits on the top, obscure his view of anything inside, but still his breath comes in rapid burst.

               Like he is afraid, he realizes. He’s not unfamiliar with the coil in his chest. He recognizes the tightness behind his eyes. He hasn’t ever considered that something as trivial as cardboard could incite it in him. He snorts.

               “Honestly, Arthur. You’ve faced puppies more intimidating. Don’t be a girl’s skirt about this.”

                He sets the box on the floor, and goes to dig through it, when a sudden chill sweeps across his bare chest. He grits his teeth and then leaves the box to pull on some sweatpants and an old long sleeved t-shirt. The shirt is a little too tight along the chest, but the sleeves hang a little below his wrist. Something beside the coil springs about and his heart aches when he realizes that the shirt is one he stole from Merlin.

               For a long moment he stands there, rubbing the sleeves between his fingers and gasping. “Don’t cry for him,” he whispers several times. “Not him. Not now.”

 ---

              The box sits in its place on the floor still. Arthur’s beard no longer itches, despite its length. He can’t remember ever letting it grow this way. Neither can he remember ever taking an entire week off of work to roam about the woods on his property. He can’t go back however.

               Everyone is whispering. Arthur doesn’t know if they think he’s deaf or if they’ve stopped caring. The whispering doesn’t bother him as much. It’s the pity. Like they think he’s…

               Arthur doesn’t know what they think, but he gets the feeling no one thinks he’s okay. Like they’re waiting for more than him holing up in his office for a week. He grabbed a vase a few weeks ago to move it, and poor Mithian startled like she expected him to throw it.      

               He’d considered it, but anger isn’t something he’s really feeling right now. It’s there, simmering and boiling, but it hasn’t reached the surface. His feet pound on the snowy path as he runs, the same strange emptiness he’s felt for weeks creating a fog in his mind. He isn’t sure how long he’s been running. His legs are trembling and his breath is whistling out of him, but still he keeps on running. The bite of the cold air is about the only thing he feels.    

               For half a second he thinks he catches a flash of dark hair and pale skin out of the corner of his eye and he turns quickly to track the movement. He loses his footing and slips on a small mound of snow, ankle wrenching in pain. Arthur curses under his breath, suddenly aware of how exhausted he is, how sore. He glances back around him, but there is no dark tuft of hair. There is, however, a small fox studying him with intent, tail twitching in a way that makes Arthur nervous. The fox sniffs, then trots up to Arthur and settles down next to him.

               Arthur shoves at the small animal, but it yips and curls in tighter. “Off with you, mangy creature. I haven’t got time to deal with you.”

               His ankle throbs, despite the ice packed around it. He’s too tired to do more than lay there, watching the white puffs fall from the air. The fox yips again, sharp teeth digging into his hand without any real force. Arthur bats the thing away, and watches it trot off a short distance. It comes back and nips at his wrist, and then his ankle.

               “You’re one of his, aren’t you?”

               The fox pauses a moment, studying Arthur with a familiar, disdainful intensity. Then it returns to prodding a weary blond up and back along the path. The trip takes a long time, as Arthur had gotten much further than he’d realized. It’s dark by the time the large sloping roof of his childhood home appear in the moonlight.

               He manages to get into the front door. The sudden burst of heat hits him hard, and he slumps down in the doorway. His ankle screams at him. He thinks he should consider crawling to the kitchen for pain killers when the fox darts past him. “Oi! Get back here you filthy beast!”

               Arthur braces himself as he stands, hobbling after the wretched beast. “Didn’t say you could go wandering about my place.”

               The fox doesn’t seem to be wandering though. It’s headed in a precise direction with an air of certainty that even Arthur doesn’t have navigating this house. Arthur who has experienced four decades of living in it. The fox saunters into Arthur’s bed room and dives right into the box.

               “Hey! Get away from that!” As fast as his injury will allow, Arthur hobbles towards it. The fox ignores him, tearing through the tissue paper like a child throw wrapping paper. It makes strange chirping sounds, growling and snuffling as it tosses out random items until it finds what it wants at the bottom. The fox hops in, and Arthur can see it turning in circles before it curls on top of something.

               Arthur scowls at the thing and goes to grab it by the scuff when his foot catches on something and he topples over again. He curses loudly, and throws the object at the wall, surprised when the thing shatters. He glances over to see a wooden frame and several shards of glass littering the floor.

                 There’s a photograph with several rips sitting in the middle of the mess, and with care, Arthur picks it up. It’s dark, and a little blurry, but he can make out the two silhouettes framed by the lights of a carnival. The taller of the two has his head tilted down, laughing at something with his arms around the other’s waist.

                 He remembers this picture. He doesn’t know who snapped it, but he remembers that night. He and Merlin had only recently begun their relationship when everyone decided to the carnival. Arthur hadn’t been up for it, not one for crowds and greasy fried food and loud attractions. Merlin however, had seemed to thrive on the chaos of it all. He spent his time darting from on stall to the next, buying all manner of sugary fried snacks. Arthur hadn't been able to stop him from buying overpriced, gaudy knickknacks from the stalls. He’d dragged Arthur onto every deathtrap ride, but had refused to go on the Ferris wheel.

               Why, Arthur still wasn’t sure. Towards the end of the night, Arthur had been feeling a little ill from the sudden explosion of grease pouring into his stomach. He’d thought he was going to puke into the duck pond, when he must have gotten too close to a duckling. Out of nowhere, a mother duck had charged at him, quacking irately with wings flapping. Merlin had grabbed him around the waist to pull him back from the edge and almost sent them both in the water.

               Arthur can’t exactly remember the joke he made, something about knights in armor, but Merlin had laughed so hard he did knock them in. Someone took the picture right as they plummeted into icy, murky water.

               In the box, the fox purrs. Arthur crumples the photo in his hand and crawls into his bed. He doesn’t worry about the lights, or his ankle, or the sweat pooling on his skin. He grips the photo and tries to remember how to count his breaths, but that’s hard to do when he’s stopped breathing.  

\---

               The fox won’t leave. It sits in Arthur’s box and yips at him. Sometimes it hops out to pee in shoes. Arthur finds he doesn’t care. He stays curled in his bed counting every noise he hears. He might sleep. He’s not sure, but the light peeking through the gap in his curtain changes every couple of blinks. The picture stays crumpled in his fist.

               Morgana knocks on his door a few times, once offering food, once asking if he’s okay. Finally she lets him know that she’s taking the twins to see Percy and Gwaine, that Leon will be by later to check on him. He snorts, because he’s not sick and he’s not a child, but she snorts right back.

                At some point the fox yanks something from the box and drags it to his bed and curls up at his feet. He tries to nudge it off with his foot, but the thing bites his foot and he decides a king bed is big enough for both of them. Mostly, he lays there doing anything but thinking.

 ---

                Leon does visit. He carries in a vase with strange tropical flowers, too colorful and too big to grow naturally in this area. He putters around talking to Arthur. It is all aimless noise to Arthur’s ears. A fog has settled around him and he can’t seem to make it leave. Leon goes to sit on the bed, and a fluffy tail appearing next to him startles him. It’s funny, and Arthur almost laughs, but then Leon knocks the vase over and the smell permeates the air.

               Without a word Arthur gathers the bright petals and all the photos scattered around his room, and dumps them in the box. He also grabs the book of pickup lines he’d gotten for Merlin as a joke on a trip to the beach. There are also two scarves that he’s uncertain are his, but they go in too. Leon watches him with worried eyes. “What’s in the box Arthur?”

               Arthur blinks at him and then shrugs.

               He walks out of his room and heads down the hall. Leon follows him at a distance, eyeing his friend with suspicion. Arthur doesn’t speak to him, doesn’t stop until he’s in the parlor room standing in front of the marble fireplace. He takes the photos out and sets them over the ashes gently, before draping the scarves over them. He tosses in the book and lays the box on top and then lights the fire.

               For a long time he stands there watching it all burn. Leon watches too, but he doesn’t speak. When Arthur begins tossing petals in, he expects Leon to say something. Instead, his friend wrinkles his nose at the weird, burnt sugar smell.

 ---

               He goes jogging again. Not through the snowy forest trails, or through the park, but through the town. He passes the apothecary and the bakery and the bookstore, and he only falters once at a flash of dark hair. He visits the coffee shop on the corner and he just smiles when they ask after Merlin. He even drinks his coffee and the ache mostly comes from the temperature.

               Elyan and Percy invite him out for lunch and he goes, and he doesn’t search the room for long necks and plump lips. He orders the largest steak they’ll let him with fries and he doesn’t feel an ounce of guilt. He contemplates pumpkin tarts, but he’s never eaten a whole one on his own, so he settles for black coffee and only misses the peppermint add on a little.

                Mostly though, he goes about his life. It surprises him to realize that not much has changed. That he can go to work and do his job and come home and sleep. He eats and runs and he hangs out with Morgana and occasionally he even goes to the movies. If he wakes up in a bed instead of on the floor, or actually hears the punchline instead of whispered criticism, well he’s the better for it.

               No one mentions Merlin to him. Never smells that weird orange-chocolate-mint smell of magic or deals with strange and sudden outburst. He even meets someone. A red-head in a bar when he goes out drinking with the boys.

               He takes him back to his place and it’s strange because the sex is gentle. Red is all smooth caresses and slow thrust and soft kisses. There’s no clawing or biting, no hard snaps of his hips or bruising holds on his thighs.  And when he rolls over, there’s an arm draped over his waist and a leg tucked between his. In the morning, he unwraps a blue toothbrush and shares an awkward plate of eggs with someone who calls him by his name.

               It’s so bizarre that when Red asks to see him again, Arthur agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

              It turns out that Red’s name is Franklin. A perfectly ordinary name, that fits him quite well. Arthur isn’t entirely sure how it happens, but Franklin goes from being someone who occasionally hooks up with him, to someone who is sitting beside him at lunch with his friends, fingers curled around Arthur’s.

              It makes him uncomfortable in the best way, the sweaty clenching of palms. Franklin gets along well with his friends. He might laugh a little nervously at Gwaine’s jokes, but he’s good with Morgana’s kids, and he talks politics with Leon without starting fights. Elyan likes to go running with him and talk art, and Lance and Gwen are forever grateful for his strange abundance of wedding advice. He seems to know every caterer and venue and photographer in the country, and he’s a pro at getting deals.

              Morgana thinks it's just the natural salesman in him, but Morgana seems to be the only one who dislikes him. She thinks he’s boring and mundane. Arthur doesn’t see how that’s a problem. Or how it’s any of her business.

              She’s right though. Franklin likes to bring Arthur flowers. He knows how Arthur feels about them, so he tries not to do it often, but once a month Arthur find a vase of truly horrendous roses sitting on his counter. They go on cute dates to the park where Franklin holds his hand and Arthur notices how warm his palms are. They sit quiet and respectful through church and they go to dinner where he eats off Arthur’s plate. He never talks through movies and he never sings along to the radio.

              They’re domestic though, with things scattered across each other’s place. They burn dinners frequently because Arthur can’t ever remember to stir and Franklin likes to think he’s smarter than the stove. More than once they’ve ended up with pink laundry because someone put a red shirt in, but it doesn’t phase them.

              Arthur thinks they’re doing fantastic, and he supposed he should be more thrilled about it. It’s why he’s a little surprised at how quiet Franklin is today.

              Summer is in full swing. They’re walking through the park in a rare Saturday off, hand lazily swaying between them. He keeps trying to start a conversation, but he doesn’t know what to say. Does he comment on the dog stealing sausages from the food truck? Or the two kids wearing more ice cream than they eat?

              They make it to Franklin’s apartment by the time Arthur decides the dog is a safer choice. Franklin lets him in, and then goes to get water, the way he does after any trip to the park.

              What do you want for us, Arthur?”

              Arthur shrugs. “What do you mean?”

              Franklin looks at him. He just stares. This is something Arthur can’t stand. They way Franklin manages to keep his face perfectly blank. No fire or ice in his eyes, no tick in his jaw. “Where do you see us going? In the future.”

              Arthur tenses. Before he can speak, Franklin nods. “You don't, do you. See a future.”

              “That’s not true. I just wasn’t prepared for the question.” Arthur takes a step forward, so he’s not hanging out in the door frame. He’s careful in his approach, but Franklin just slumps into a kitchen chair.

              This part, Arthur knows. He’s careful to reach out and place his hand on Franklin’s neck, thumb tracing his jaw.

              Franklin gently pushes his hand away. “I can’t do it, Art. I can’t fight ghost this way.” He studies Arthur, taking in the preplextion. “You keep waiting on me to hurt you. You keep waiting for me to do what’s already been done to you. And it isn’t fair. I won’t. Not intentionally. But I don’t know how you were previously hurt because you won’t talk about it. You don’t talk about much about at all. It’s a talent really, the way you can have an hour long conversation with me, and not tell me a single damn thing.”

              Arthur opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

              Franklin waits, but Arthur has little to offer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have ghost.”

              Franklin smiles softly. “Yeah, you do. Terms you won’t let me use. Buildings you won’t walk by. The careful way you phrase anything that might lead to conflict? Hell, Arthur you spend the night even when it’s clear you’d rather not because I’ve an early morning or you’re slightly under the weather. You accept gifts from me you don’t like because you’re too afraid to offend me.”

              “I like what you give me.” It’s weak, even to his own ears.

              “Sure. I’m sure. But the thing is Arthur, you’re in a relationship with me, but you’re trying to fix the problems someone else had with you.”

              There’s nothing but the tick of the clock for a long time. Finally Arthur puts his hand on Franklin’s shoulder. “I really do like you, Frank.”

              Franklin nods, and his eyes are just a little watery. ”I know. But I can’t slay your ghost, Pendragon. And until you deal with them, I worry you won’t ever like anyone enough to let them in.”

              Arthur doesn’t say anything else. He just leans down and kisses Franklin’s cheek and walks out.

              When the box arrives at the Manor this time, he doesn’t even open it. He just chunks it into the fire and let’s Morgana hold him as he sobs. She runs fingers through his hair and clicks on about how she didn’t like Frank anyway, as he was a boring piece of wallpaper.

\- - -

              Merlin is sprawled underneath the too-green crown of a large tree in the middle of his woods. There’s a fox curled on his chest, fast asleep, and still somehow judging him.

              He’s been out here all day, avoiding going back to his place for fear the nameless stranger he brought home still won’t have gotten the message to leave.

              He stopped learning their names when the first blossoms bloomed. They don’t matter. None of them are right. They’re all to gentle, too soft, even when leaving bruises on his hips. They don't fit. None of them frame him to the mattress and weigh him down. They don’t leave trails along his spine, or carve tracks across his chest. They accept him if he tries to control and they take the lead if he doesn’t. There is no struggle for power, for dominance. No testing of the strengths.

              He lost count of them. Thinks he might have brought several home more than once, but he doesn’t see their faces. The problems there is, they start to think they matter. They begin staying for breakfast and making comments about numbers. They want to know his name and how he takes his coffee.

              Merlin already has someone who knows how he takes it. Black, with two drops of sugar. “Because you like to look like you're tough.”

              He know Gwaine and Percy are worried. He knows Gwen wants to coddle him.

              He’s surprisingly thankful Morgana likes to call him out. Even if she does drop bombshells of her brother’s happiness on him.

              The tickle of her magic wakes the fox before he feels it. “Your house has strange, naked man terrorizing George over eggs.”

              Merlin flicks his eyes towards her. “Would you be a dear and run him off?”

              She sits beside him, careful of the lacy dress she’s in, and steals the fox from his chest. “Already done, dearest. Delightful little spook. Didn’t bother to put on ANYTHING before he ran.”

              Merlin snorts and almost wishes he’d seen it.               

              “I’ve run him off twice before. At some point you’re going to have to stop waiting for the wicked witch to show up and do your dirty work.”

              Merlin laughs, then sits up and kisses her cheek. “I’d never call you wicked, Morgana.”

              She quirks her own brow at him. “Even if I’ve come to tell you my brother’s three weeks single?”

              Merlin sighs. It’s a strange friendship they’ve formed, and he’s grateful for it. But he could use much less prying and meddling. “Never said you weren’t a witch.”

              He’s not sure if she used magic too, but his cheek flames from the force of her flick. “Go to him, Merlin. Talk. He’s grown some, and you’re... well you’re capable of being open. Don’t waste anymore time on old grievances.”

              Merlin rolls his head towards her. “Morgana I can’t. It hurt so much the last time. He’s incapable of it.” He raises a hand to quiet her. “I mean the deep stuff. He can do the surface relationship. The little dates and anniversaries. But he doesn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff.”

              Morgana sends the fox away and grips Merlin by the chin. “Merlin Emrys. You listen here and you listen good. I’m so tired of you and my brother saying what the other will and won’t do. Is and isn’t capable of. Neither of you will sit down and just talk it out. I’m not saying it’s gonna be daisy chains and tea cakes, but these things aren’t ever easy. You're both adults and you need to start acting like it. You sleeping with everything that moves and him settling for the first warm embrace that comes along? That’s an early grave for the both of you and I won’t stand for it.”

              She does stand, though, brushing dirt from her dress. With both hands on her hips she glares down at Merlin. “Arthur and I didn’t spend a full sixteen hours arguing on your behalf for this kind of life endangering behavior.”

              She slings something at him. “Friday, 7 p.m. wear the green shirt and the silver tie. Don’t be late.”

              Merlin glances at his chest and finds a bag of candies with a card attached. He hadn’t realized the wedding was so close. “You don’t get a plus one, Merls. You never did RSVP.”


	4. Chapter 4

              It is disgustingly unfair, Merlin muses, that Arthur is capable of composure in this moment. Gwen and Lance’s wedding is taking place in an ancient church with smooth stone walls and a wooden altar. Rain pelters off truly terrible stain glass windows.  Beyond the heavy doors, Arthur walks with shoulders back and head high, despite the water-slicked locks plastered to his forehead and the constant stream of an angry autumn sky blinding him. Even the way his jeans and his sweater shirt cling to him, baggy and soggy, should not help his composed look. 

               He isn’t entirely sure how he ended up here. Morgana was off helping the bride, sure, but how that translated to the suit she’d shoved in his hand and the towel Elyan tossed over his shoulders with a “he’ll be here any minute!” Merlin isn’t sure. He suspects Gwaine is behind this, because, as Gwaine had put it, “you bored in a corner is trouble waiting to happen.” Which, true, but only when Gwaine is also involved. 

               Now, he stands uncomfortably, watching. He isn’t sure if he should speak before Arthur notices him, or if he just waits for Arthur to see him. He’s waffling, not really wanting to deal with the conflict, when Arthur makes the decision. He slows, and the confidence on his face fades, just a smidge. He stops and studies the dark haired male, but the rain is blurring his vision, and Merlin isn’t sure if it’s that or his feelings that make him grimace so violently. He squares his shoulders, prepared to say something, but Arthur shakes his head and slides past him. 

               Merlin wordlessly hands him the towel, trying to avoid letting Arthur drip on his own grey suit. Arthur is stiff as he towels off, looking anywhere but Merlin. It makes it difficult for Merlin to motion towards the sleek black suit he’s holding for him. 

               The only sound in the weird little side room is the water still dripping off Arthur. Finally, the blond clears his throat. Merlin whips his head towards the male and he almost chokes when he realizes Arthur is standing in damp boxers. Merlin will never admit this, but he lets his eyes roam down Arthur and it’s a punch in his gut that the man somehow looks stronger now than he did a year ago. There’s a strange sharpness in the cut of Arthur’s hips and a leanness to his belly that Merlin isn’t used to. He swallows at the faintest curl of grey right around Arthur’s pecs. 

               A cough brings him out of his study. He snaps his eyes towards Arthur. “Yeah?”

               Arthur makes a vague motion, and when Merlin doesn’t quite get it, he rolls his eyes and points.  “My suit, you idiot.”

               Whatever spell the rain soaked image had cast, breaks, and Merlin snarls just a little at Arthur, slinging the garment bag his way. “See you out there.”

\---

               The ceremony is probably beautiful, of course. And Merlin supposes the bride glowed and the groom cried, but he doesn’t know. Because as luck would have it, Arthur’s late arrival meant Merlin was slow to find a seat and now he’s pressed against Arthur and his brain is fizzing. He really tries to stare at the lit candles and the flowers and the twins, but his eyes keep cutting to Arthur, who hasn’t moved, hasn’t blinked, once. Merlin would suspect he was a cutout copy, had he not heard a sharp intake when Gwen has said her “I do.”

               As it is, there are several candles lit and the rain has finally quit and the church is packed and Merlin is sweating through the green shirt he’s wearing and every bit of him from his knee to his shoulder burns where it’s pressed against Arthur. 

\---

               When the final candle is lit and everyone departs towards the banquet hall, Merlin all but bolts from the room in ungainly cowardliness. It is a testimony to how hated he is in the universe that he then finds himself seated next to Arthur at a small table, joined by a lovely couple. The seats hard and the table is small and once more he finds himself simmering in Arthur’s heat. 

               The conversation at the table is soft and mundane and Merlin is only half aware as he chokes down what might as well be smoggy air for all he feels and taste it. When a hand lands on his knees, Merlin startles so hard that the hand is caught between him and the table. When Arthur manages to snatch it back, his glare could turn Merlin to stone. 

               “I’m sorry?”

               Arthur makes a vague gesture towards the couple, but Merlin can only blink owlishly. It further infuriates Arthur who just mutters about “graceless fools” under his breath. The male, attractive in the chin with a swatch of pale brown hair, quirks an amused brow. “We were just asking how you two met the bride and groom?”

               Merlin laughs a little nervously, though nothing in the question gives credence to that emotion. “School. Met Lance in an undergrad physics class. We both would have flunked had Gwen not taken pity on us in the library. Though I suspect she did it more out of desperation to get the two crying men to shut up. It was probably mildly distracting, having us in there at all hours.”

              The guy nods with a light chuckle before motioning for Arthur to answer the question. The same inexplicable dread slithers through Merlin once more, as Arthur answers, eyes never straying from his plate. “Friend of a friend type deal originally.” He pauses and cuts his eyes towards Merlin, before continuing. “Was Merlin, actually. A uh, movie night. At his place, back a few years ago.” 

              He continues eating like he hadn’t just dropped the world’s largest bomb on the table. It isn't at all the truth, because Gwen knew Arthur before Merlin knew Lance, and while Merlin and Arthur didn't really hang out while the pair were dating, they certainly knew of each other during that time. The lady at the table raises two thin brows in surprise. “You guys know each other?”

              Arthur gives a small shrug. “Sure, you could say that.”

              Merlin goes at him, stung for reasons he is once more unsure of, as Arthur continues. “We actually, had a thing for a while.” Merlin is certain he is the only one who can see the way Arthur’s hand is shaking, despite the calm in his voice, but it doesn’t stop the anger swelling in him.

            “A thing?” Merlin is only half aware as the words slip out of his mouth. The room is suddenly loud and bright, and it is all making him a little light headed, but his focus never leaves Arthur, who finally turns towards him with raised brows and empty eyes.

            “Well, yeah Merlin. Wasn’t that what you said when you sent me packing? Couldn’t call it dating because at least one of us wasn’t fully invested and the other didn’t have time to sort through ghost.” He swings his gaze back towards the couple who’re beginning to look a little embarrassed. Or scandalized. Maybe uncomfortable. “Don’t worry,” Arthur assures them. “It was more than a casual hook up.”

            Merlin can feel the red staining the tips of his ears, and scampering across his cheeks. He splutters, just a moment, intent on replying, when Arthur starts again. “Can’t totally dump the break up on him though,” he whispers as he leans in. “I wasn’t really ready to have any of those big relationships conversations.” He leans back in his chair, raising the front legs up a bit and if his face weren’t a mask bitter enough to poison water, Merlin might add his own rebuttal. He can’t help but wince when Arthur turns that dead look on him. “’S why the last one left too.”

            After that, Arthur gets up and leaves, abandoning Merlin in his stuttering and flushed state, eyes wide as the couple before him studiously dissect the food on their plates. Anger, like a great wind, roars through him and he’s fit to explode if he doesn’t confront Arthur. Because of course the great prat decides to leave his most honest statement ever hanging in the air between Merlin and some strangers while he makes his own retreat.

            He knows he should smooth things over with the pair in front of him, make some grand excuse to clear the awkward tension but the anger is exploding in him in great, fizzy pops and he finds himself storming out after Arthur instead.

\---

               The church, thought small, is a maze of strung together buildings and random hallways. Merlin has spent at least an hour and forty-five minutes wandering through the place, feeling all kinds of out of sorts. He has lost both his jacket and his tie, and his waist-coat flutters randomly under the vents.

            Eventually, Merlin knows that the closet he is checking is the same one he has already been through three times and the fight that has been spurring him on deflates like a balloon left in the sun. He cannot search anymore and he cannot bear the thought of facing the crowds happily swinging on the dance floor. Instead, he finds an exit attached to a bathroom and heads out on a scattered stone path until he finds what passes for a garden, a few scraggly bushes and a mishmash of half wilted flowers.

            Thankfully the rain has mostly dissipated, aside from a few stray drops every few minutes. Still, the air is muggy, despite having cooled some, and the sky, though bruised, is beautiful. Part of Merlin still feels an intense need to retreat, but he doesn’t know what he is retreating from or where he would retreat too. There is a silhouette under the loan tree and he feels like he should acknowledge the soul, but he finds he does not mind sharing the fading light with him. Instead he finds his way towards a stone bench that is damp, but lacks puddles.

            For a long time he lets his thoughts drift aimlessly, not bothering to follow them or focus. Any train that tries to venture into deeper territory is calmly derailed, and slowly the evening’s frustrations, all of them, begin to fade.

            He has almost fallen asleep, despite the cool dampness, when he senses someone hovering next to him. It takes him a moment to pry his eyes open, and when he manages it, he sucks in a sharp breath.

            Arthur stand in front of him, a guarded expression stitched to his face. “Kept expecting you to come over and scream at me. Maybe punch me.”

            Merlin shrugs, bobbing his head. “Didn’t realize it was you. Had I, I very well may have.”

            Arthur cocks his own head. “And now?”

            Merlin can feel the way his body slumps, like everything in him just drains right out. “I’m tired Arthur. Of you. Of us. This stupid fucking back and forth, ‘round and ‘round we go, game.”

            Arthur doesn’t respond. He doesn’t shift his weight, or cut his eyes, or even breathe as far as Merlin can tell. Merlin waits, for a long while, wondering if he should say something, do something. He knows that half their failed relationship is on him, constantly waiting for Arthur to do or say something he can respond to, but he has nothing left in him.

            Finally Arthur sits next to him, slow and careful, like Merlin is a snake poised to strike. “Do you think of us often then, to be so exhausted?”

            Of all the possible questions, this was not one Merlin had expected. “For a long time I did, yeah. For a long time you were all I thought of.”

                "When you sent that box? Did you think of me then?”

               “Yeah, but it wasn’t nice thoughts. I wanted to hurt you, as deeply as I felt you’d hurt me. I wanted every item I stuck in there to cut, to tear you apart.” Merlin knows he should find a way to soften the words, but Arthur doesn’t seem too shocked by them.

            He nods. Silence blankets them. Merlin is a little surprised to find that there’s no awkwardness or anger in it, that it is rather comfortable. He doesn’t want to break it though, fragile and tentative as it is. Arthur seems to be of a same mind, and the moon is hanging above them before Merlin shivers in the cool air.

            Arthur turns towards him. “Cold?”

            Merlin nods. “Lost my coat somewhere in that bloody labyrinth.”

            Arthur chuckles, and shrugs off his own coat and hands it over. “Sure. You always did run a little cold, Merlin. You’ve got ice running through your veins where blood should be.”

            Merlin just shrugs, nestling into the coat. It’s warm from wear and it smells of the same musky spice that Merlin remembers. If he curls his nose into it, just a little, well the night air is biting at his cheeks and nose anyway.

            “I’m sorry.”

            Merlin doesn’t respond. Just tilts his head a little.

            Arthur turns towards him, face serious and eyes intense. “About before. Inside. I shouldn’t have said those things. Anything.” He has his hands curled in his knees, and Merlin can see, even in the low lighting, the white of his knuckles.

            “No. Probably not. But we both know if you hadn’t first I might’ve.” He curls his own hands, flexing his fingers.

            Arthur shakes his head. “Normally, yeah, but I take it no one told you we’d be seated next to each other. You’re a pale one, but tonight, you looked a specter.”

            Merlin laughs, and it is possibly the most honest emotion he has felt in several months. “That obvious eh? And here I thought my poker face would win me millions.”

            Arthur makes a small noise and Merlin turns his head to see Arthur’s face contort, caught somewhere between amusement and pain. He isn’t at all prepared for Arthur to leap across the bench at him, fingers scrabbling against his jaw, his cheek. Merlin can feel the scrape of nails over his Adam’s apple and by the time dry and chapped lips slam into his own, he finds he is on board with this, more than he would have ever thought he’d be.

            He tangles his own fingers through Arthur’s hair, surprised to find it longer than he’s used to. His own teeth scrape across thin lips, biting in a desperate plea for entrance, and his tongue chases the taste of champagne and curry and greens. The bench is hard beneath them, but Merlin manages to push Arthur down on it, and he can feel it digging in to his knees, but he doesn’t care.

            Neither does Arthur, if the way he shoves at Merlin’s clothing is any indication. The angle is wrong, and neither the ground nor the stone are very forgiving, but soon enough Merlin has his hands on Arthur’s waist and it is every bit as sharp as it had looked earlier. He has two fingers in Arthur and his teeth on his jaw. Arthur has one hand tangled in Merlin’s hair and the other grasping at himself, head hanging off their makeshift bed and teeth trying to keep his whines silenced.

            As best he can, Merlin breeches Arthur, balancing his legs against Arthur’s own chest. Arthur has one arm thrown over his eyes and the other digging into Merlin’s arm and he’s somewhere between begging for Merlin to just move already and stalling his own release. It hasn’t been long for either of them, but despite the almost year that has passed, they are well enough tuned to each other that it only takes a few minutes before Merlin is strangling his cry in his throat and Arthur is biting his into the hand Merlin had begun tracing his face with.

            Merlin collapses on him and it isn’t until a bird hoots in the night that either of them move. Arthur’s back is raw, and Merlin has scrapes across his knees and his palms. They dress in silence, and Merlin can’t help but chuckle at Arthur’s disgusted face. Arthur cuts his eyes at him. “You always were a messy lover, Merlin.”

            It sobers him, though he knows it wasn’t meant the way he takes it. “I know, Arthur. And I’m sorry for it.”

\---

               He doesn’t see Arthur for a month. After he’s made his apologize to Gwen and Lance for disappearing, and to Morgana for defiling the church she’d promised to keep clean. After he’s stopped bring strangers home and he’s poured most of his liquor into the tub. He thinks about calling him, thinks about swinging by the Pendragon home, or even their offices. But he is a coward, as he has always been, and he keeps himself to his own routines.

            He figures Arthur could just as well call or visit him. Arthur does. He arrives on the first cold day of the year, in a pressed suit with his hair cut short again. He is standing taller than Merlin has ever seen him, with an edge of determination fit for a king. Merlin leans against his door-frame, aware of his own ratty sweats and over sized hoodie. It’s his jacket that catches Arthur’s eyes first. He purses his lips in a frown. “That’s mine?”

               Merlin shrugs. “It was.”

               Arthur opens his mouth, and then shrugs and closes it. Merlin raises a brow, and Arthur flushes just a bit. “I want…”

               Merlin waits.

               “I want a lot of things, Merlin. To go back and fix things. To prevent problems before they’ve become. I want not to hurt others, and not to ache in myself. Mostly though,” he pauses and Merlin is again trapped beneath an intensely studying gaze. “Mostly, Merlin, I just want you.”

               Merlin tilts his head contemplatively. “Do you?”

               Arthur doesn’t back down or recoil like Merlin had expected. “Yes. I want to stay in your bed on a Saturday morning, Merlin. I want to use the tragic, cartoon toothbrush you buy me and I want to hold your hand in public.”

               Merlin nods. “Yeah, that’s… well those are solid wants. But Arthur, it won’t just be morning blowjobs and spring picnics.”

               Arthur steps forward, one hand hovering like he wants to touch Merlin. Merlin steps forward so that the hand is caught on his elbow. “Merlin, I want screaming matches and bruised hips and make-up sex and embarrassing public displays. I want snot on my shoulder and blotchy eyes and bad movies because, god, your taste is terrible. I want burnt eggs and sing alongs, and car rides that end up in strange foreign towns because neither of us trust a GPS.”

               Merlin hooks one of his own hands into Arthur’s pocket and pulls him forward. “And what about what I want?”

               Arthur shrugs. “Say me no. Send me away. Tell me there is absolutely no chance, whatsoever, and I will not fight. But if there’s even a fraction of a sliver in you that thinks we could work this out, then tell me, and I’ll break down every wall and burn every bridge to make it work.”

               Merlin smiles and he leans in, letting his breath ghost along Arthur’s lips. “And your ghost, Arthur? Will you talk to me about your problems and let me hurt you in my own way?”

               “Yes.”

               "And will you really kiss me in public and declare to the world I am yours?”

               “I’ll tattoo it across my chest.”

               Merlin cuts his eyes upward, catching both of Arthur’s hips in his hands and pulling him close. “I want you, Pendragon. But you need to understand this. I want all of you, every piece, and I won’t share.”

               Arthur tucks his own hands under Merlin’s shirt, fingers tracing the skin. “I’d never ask someone like you to share, Merlin.”

               Merlin shakes his head. “I want you under me in bed Arthur, but I also demand you stand with me, against the world.”

               Arthur seals their lips together, and Merlin can taste the yes in the minty air blown down his throat, can feel it in the nails carving his skin. He can hear the promises in the shuffling as Arthur pins him to the wall, and it burns him as the other male shoves a knee between his own.

               Merlin pulls back to study blue eyes blown so dark they’re the ocean at night. The king’s intensity is haloing Arthur as he nods. “Beneath you, beside you. Always.”

 


End file.
